I Got You, Brother
by DinerGuy
Summary: 2018 reboot. Rick's closing up the bar by himself one night when he runs into two unexpected guests in the alley. Too bad muggers don't really listen to reason.


_A/N: Standard disclaimers apply._

* * *

Rick yawned as he closed and locked the office safe. It had been a late night, and he was ready to go home and get some shut-eye. Part of the trouble with getting a bar off the ground was that he didn't have a lot of spare cash, which meant he was working a lot more hours than he had when he'd been the manager of the club. Not that he hadn't cared about his job there or that business, but it was an entirely different thing when he was solely responsible for whether La Mariana succeeded or failed. And, now, it wasn't just his own money at stake, but T.C.'s as well, and Rick was _not _going to let his friend down by letting the bar flop.

What that meant for him was a lot of late hours by himself, like tonight, when he sent his staff home and finished closing duties on his own. There wasn't much left to do anyway, just documenting the day's numbers and taking out the trash, and he could do that by himself.

He switched off the office lights and headed for the back door. He'd drop the garbage in the dumpster on his way to his car, then go home for some well-deserved sleep before coming back to open up the following morning.

At least, that was the plan right up until he shut the bar door, took three steps into the alley, and heard a heavy footfall behind him.

His senses prickling, Rick whirled around, garbage bags clenched in his fists. There was a shadowy figure standing behind him, hidden from the illumination of the bar's security light by a dark hoodie.

It was hard to tell if the figure was a man or a woman, but Rick quickly sized up his opponent. Whoever it was stood just about as tall as Rick himself; they looked a lot slimmer than he was, although the generous fabric of the hoodie hid a lot of details about the person. Something glinted in the figure's hands, and Rick's quick glance immediately identified the weapon. It wasn't a gun, which was good; that meant he had a better chance of making it out of this encounter—possibly with his wallet intact. This genius mugger simply had a knife, which, while bad, wasn't _terrible._ Rick had faced off against bigger guys with much bigger knives before; this should be easy.

"Gimme your wallet!" the mugger demanded, and Rick resisted the urge to laugh. What was this kid—fifteen? Definitely no hardened criminal.

Yeah, this was going to be easy.

"No, I don't think so," Rick replied, shrugging a shoulder. He kept his grip on the large plastic bags in both of his hands, though, looking for the right opportunity to use them to help him gain the upper hand. He was pretty sure he could knock the knife from the kid's hands or at least distract him enough to take it from him or make him drop it.

That was clearly not what the kid was expecting to hear. "I have a knife!" he threatened.

"Right, I saw. But you need to turn around and leave before things go really wrong for you." Rick kept his voice low and even. He honestly didn't want to hurt this kid; the punk was probably just having the wrong sort of fun. "You picked the wrong guy to hold up. I've got skills you probably wouldn't have guessed a guy taking out trash behind a bar at two am would have, but I was a Marine, okay? I know a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat, so I can promise you that you really don't want to threaten me with a little knife."

If the kid still didn't listen after the threat and turn around and leave, Rick was going to easily overpower him before calling HPD. Either way, it was going to be fine.

What he hadn't planned on was anyone else being in on the whole mugging thing—which he discovered was the case when something smashed into the back of his shoulders.

Pain exploded up his neck and into his head, and he dropped the trash bags as he stumbled forward. He tried to catch himself, but his arms were slow to listen to the command, and he hit the ground hard, feeling the air rush out of his lungs, his head spinning.

"Man, what'd you do that for?" the kid yelled at someone, although the voice sounded like it was coming from much farther away than Rick knew it was.

Panting, he pulled his arms underneath him, knowing he needed to get to his feet. He shook his head to clear it as he started to stand—

Only for a foot to impact with his side and send him falling back to the ground with a grunt as his breath once again left him.

"You should be thanking me!" a slightly deeper voice replied, but Rick didn't have much time to concentrate on it before whoever it was kicked him again, and he felt something in his side give with a burst of fire that pulled a yell of pain from him.

"You heard him; he was gonna take you out and call the cops."

"But—"

"You said you could do this, man. So do it! Go on!"

Rick couldn't see what was happening above him with the way his vision was blurring, but he swallowed hard as the shadows started to shift. One of the muggers was leaning down toward him now, and Rick took as deep of a breath as he could manage, grimacing at the pain the gesture brought. He would only have one chance at taking the guy; he'd have to move fast.

And then a hand reached for him—probably to take his wallet—and Rick made his move. He reached up and grabbed the outstretched arm, yanking his assailant down and using the counterweight to haul himself to his feet. He had the kid on the ground in seconds and turned to take on the second mugger, but the other guy was faster.

The punch to his jaw had Rick stumbling backward, his fists going up to block the next blow as it came. Although he succeeded, his reactions were slower than he'd planned, and he felt a fist smash into the side of his face.

Combined with the throbbing in his shoulders, the blows he'd taken were overwhelming, and Rick was having trouble seeing the shadows moving in the dark alley. He could feel his vision swimming; the little he could see thanks to the light from La Mariana blurred and spun.

He sucked in another breath and tried to focus, tried to rush the guy attacking him, but he must have been moving slower than he'd thought. The mugger anticipated his move and easily sidestepped, then Rick felt something hard hit him in the back.

It was enough to undo his already unsteady footing, and he fell forward for the second time that night, once again unable to catch himself. Something jarred in his shoulder, and his injured side flared in an agony that left him breathless and gasping in pain.

He didn't see the kick coming, only felt it as it landed heavily in the small of his back. Rick heard himself cry out, the sound muffled by the breathlessness still clutching at his chest, and felt himself arching back against the fresh pain.

Another foot followed the first, this one at his front, and he heaved reflexively even as he tried to shield himself against any subsequent blows. The clenching of his muscles only served to increase the fire that seemed to be taking over every nerve in his body.

Spots filled his vision, obscuring even the little that he had been able to make out before, and his head spun so violently he was sure he was about to lose all of his stomach's contents.

"Hey!" The shout was muffled, and Rick tried to force himself to focus on the words, but it was just so hard…

"What, you chickening out on me?"

"No, it's just… he's not gonna be any trouble anymore. Let's just take his money and go."

Rick tried to force his eyes to focus, tried to find the strength to get to his feet again. Even if he couldn't put up any more of a fight, he should at least be able to escape back into the bar and lock himself in while he called the cops. But his limbs weren't responding, his head felt both heavy and like it had been stuffed with cotton, and he just… had no energy. At all. All he could do was lie there, try to keep breathing, and hope the muggers would be satisfied to just take his wallet and move on.

Of course, then there would be the whole problem of getting help, but he'd deal with that later.

He wanted to say something, to try to talk the one guy into listening to his friend, but no words came. When he tried, he just found himself gasping for more air, his lungs struggling to breathe sufficiently past the strain of his injured muscles.

"Come on!"

A moment later, there was sudden movement at his side as someone pushed at him to roll him onto his stomach. Rick groaned at the pain from the movement, and he weakly tried to bat away the punk's hands, but to no avail.

He felt whoever it was reach into his back pocket, and he could tell when the mugger pulled out his wallet. Then the jerk took his phone too, and then Rick heard the guy grunt in satisfaction.

"Okay, got 'em!"

If he could have, Rick would have breathed a sigh of relief as the sound of feet pounded off down the alley and out of earshot. But he had already slipped into unconsciousness before the footsteps had fully receded.

* * *

_"Rick!"_

The sound of his name filtered through the darkness, slowly pulling him back toward reality.

_"Hey, can you hear me?"_

Well… yeah, he could, but he wasn't completely sure how to tell the voice that.

_"Come on, brother. Open your eyes for me."_

Something—someone? yeah, had to be—patted his cheek, and Rick flinched at the touch, even though it was gentle and coaxing.

"Come on, Rick. You can do it," someone urged quietly, and, this time, Rick could hear the words much more clearly.

He thought he recognized the voice, but he couldn't focus long enough to decide for sure.

Rick frowned. Didn't the voice know how badly everything hurt? He didn't want to wake up. In fact, the opposite sounded really good right then. The more he came to, the more he wished he hadn't.

"Don't do this to me. You gotta wake up. Come on."

When the voice came again, it clicked in Rick's fuzzy brain. _T.C.!_

Forcing himself to concentrate, Rick groaned as he managed to blink open one eye.

It was still dark but seemed lighter than it had been before Rick had tangled with the muggers, even with his friend's form blocking the light from the bulb on the outside of the bar.

Rick was still lying on the ground but no longer sprawled on his stomach. He could feel something softer under his head than the concrete of the alley. When T.C. shifted slightly, Rick's lagging thoughts registered that his friend must be holding his head, cradling it from the rough ground.

"There you go," T.C. said softly. "Welcome back."

Replying felt like too much effort, so Rick just settled for something of a grunt that came out more roughly than he'd intended.

"Shh. Don't try to talk. Ambulance is on its way," T.C. assured him. A large hand gently patted Rick's shoulder. "I got worried when I drove past—got an early tour," he offered in explanation, "and I saw your car still here."

Nodding seemed like it would hurt too much. His head was swimming again, so Rick just closed his eyes and swallowed against the nausea building in his gut.

"Hey, hey. Stay with me, Rick," T. , panic coloring his tone, and Rick forced himself to squint up at his friend again.

"…bossy," he managed to croak out.

In the faint light, he could see T.C. grin at the reply. "Don't worry. I got you, brother."

Sirens echoed down the road, and his friend glanced up, then looked back at Rick with an encouraging smile.

"They're almost here. Just hold on a little longer."

Unable to find his voice for a response, even a one-word one, Rick just gave a brief nod. He took a slow, shallow breath and tried to focus on staying awake T.C. was right. Just a little longer, and then he'd be in the hospital and on the good stuff and not have to worry about focusing on anything. At least, not for a while. He could do that.

He wanted to ask about his attackers, but something told him it wouldn't take long for Thomas and Jules to find the two punks. Rick had little doubt he'd get his stuff back before he was out of the hospital.

* * *

_Fin._


End file.
